


The Chair

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, The chair, last day in Baker Street, slightly pre-Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: a 'thinky thought' regarding how John's chair was put back during HLV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



Sherlock had moved John's chair three times in his life. He sighed as he was preparing for someone else to move it. It was old by the time John had sat in it for the first time, so long ago now, it was practically ancient, falling apart in its current state, but John wouldn't hear of reupholstering, or changing a thing about it, now that they were moving it to Sussex. For some reason, Sherlock found himself lost in the memory of the last time he moved it, he laid his hand shakily over his own chest, and shook his head. Of course, John walked into the room at that precise moment. Sherlock rolled his eyes as John shot him a questioning look.

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"The last time I moved your chair."

"The last time - wait - you mean?"

"I moved it back the night after I left hospital."

"By yourself."

"Hmm. Billy was already waiting for Mary. I thought you'd appreciate the symbolic nature of the gest - damn." Sherlock groaned as he lowered himself into it. "How the hell do you sit in this?"

"Don't change the subject. You almost killed yourself, you ripped stitches, nearly died in my arms all for a fucking gesture?" John slowly knelt between Sherlock's knees which had fallen open. 

"I admit, it was a bit over the top, but then I have always been a bit of a 'drama queen' as you so rightly observed on more than one occasion as I recall -"

"I apologised -" John whispered, as he laid trembling hands on Sherlock's knees.

"I don't recall an apology..." Sherlock muttered, covering John's hands with his longer, steadier ones.

"You were barely conscious at the time, you utter arse." John growled softly. "I was running out of things to tell you that night; I was trying to keep you awake, keep you with me, so I could tell you I loved you when you woke up - oh god. I thought, I thought I had lost you again, Sherlock and I had never told you, hadn't even completely understood until you collapsed in my arms, trying to convince me to trust the bitch who shot you - I apologised for every rotten thing I ever said or thought - you almost smiled when I told you I loved you, you must have thought it was a joke, and then your heart stopped. I watched you die again, Sherlock, watched as they had to start your heart again. And then, you wouldn't see me. You told Mycroft that you didn't want to see me. You didn't let me visit, or take care of you the way I wanted to, I needed to. Shit. I was never going to tell you how much it hurt, because I had hurt you so many times, without intending to. And then finally, our first night together - you let me see all of it, what they had done to you, all because of me, for me -" John buried his head in Sherlock's lap, and Sherlock kissed his lover's silver hair, inhaling all the scents that belonged to him, to them.

"John, my John, don't you know, I would have willingly died for you ten times over to keep you safe. My life is meaningless without you in it. Don't you know that?"

"Excuse me, Gents, the chair? It's goin' in the van, yeah?" A young man interrupted them, from the doorway, and Sherlock nodded.

"John, I think I need a bit of help, I seem to be stuck."

John sniffed, then got to his feet. He looked at his friend, his lover and husband through bleary eyes, then sighed. "It would serve you right if I let you stay there; give us a hand, love?"

Sherlock grinned and reached out for John, pulling him into his lap. He glanced over at the lad who simply winked and walked back down the stairs. He sat on the stoop next to his partner who was having a smoke before the drive.

"They need a couple minutes, I'm gonna get a coffee, need one?"

"Ta."

 

"I am sorry."

"Don't be tedious, John."

"I was an idiot -"

"Most people are, you know." Sherlock kissed him once more, then smiled as he unzipped John's trousers and slipped his hand into John's pants. "Red. John... you know how I feel about you in red."

"Mmm-hmmm."

Sherlock wrapped his still lovely lips around John's still noteworthy cock and took him in until John cried out, his fingers tangled in Sherlock's curls that were slowly going grey. "Sherlock! Bloody hell! Have I told you how much I adore you this morning?"

"Uhm. No. Not as such."

"I adore you, absolutely and completely."

"Forgive me?"

"For?" John's eyes narrowed.

"For making you grieve for me. I never wanted to cause you pain, and yet, I did, so many times. I am so very sorry, love."

"Don't do it again."

"I'll do my best."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another bit that I needed to write out, messing with time, just a bit...

"John?" Sherlock looked up from yet another experiment, meant to stave off boredom, and the itch for a cigarette or something a bit stronger, as John suddenly appeared in his kitchen. He turned the torch all the way down and pushed the safety glasses into his straggly mess of curls.

"I - uhm, I left Mary."

"You, left Mary." He squinted at his blogger and carefully laid the torch down, then picked up his mug of tea and frowned at it, then put it down again.

John nodded and went to sit in his chair.

Sherlock walked over to his own chair and perched in it as he always had done. John looked into his friend's perplexed and somewhat concerned eyes, and felt himself breathe for the first time in months. 

"I'm choosing you."

"Choosing me. Why, precisely?"

"Why?"

"Yes. A fair question, don't you think?" Sherlock growled. John was reminded of an animal in pain, but not wanting to trust an offer of help.

John sighed. Fingers were steepled, eyes were narrowed, he knew he was being deduced, broken down into bits of data, he knew this was going to be difficult but he hadn't realised... aw, hell...

"Because I love you."

"No." Sherlock got up and began pacing. "Nope. You don't get to do this."

"Do what?"

"Come here and start slinging the trite, rom-com banalities and expect me to fall at your feet. No. Absolutely not. No."

"I miss heads in the fridge when I'm starving."

"Liar." Sherlock snorted, but he looked into John's face. Still assessing, then. 

"Thai take-away after a case. You stretched out on the couch in your Mind Palace while I'm working out a title for the next blog post you will loathe." Sherlock glared at him, but he sat back down in his chair. He hadn't stormed off to his room or out of the flat, yet, but that might have more to do with the rain that had just started than any argument John could make.

"You have a child." A sneer, a sharp jab John had expected. But he shook his head.

"No. No, I don't. Abigail isn't mine. I finally did a paternity test. Had to know, Mary claims she wasn't quite sure whose she was, I don't believe her, naturally, but -"

"You're just lonely." A last feeble attempt to keep John at arm's length, but John could hear Sherlock's need in his voice.

"Yes, of course I am, I miss my best friend, the last person I think of when I close my eyes; the one who shows up in my daydreams and my nightmares. It was never anyone but you."

"Not fair." Sherlock moved from his chair and walked to the window, He stood silently for a while, watching the rain, hoping John would just give up and leave. He didn't. Finally Sherlock whispered against the window pane miserably. "You won't want me."

"Of course I will, I do, always -."

"NO."

"Sherlock. Tell me? Is it from when - bloody hell. Is that why? Why you didn't want me to stay with you after - please, tell me I'm wrong?"

"DON'T."

"Please?"

Suddenly, John had appeared behind him. Sherlock flinched at the voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. "John, please? I never wanted you to know, don't. John. I can't. You'll see and stay out of guilt, because you pity me... I never asked, never wanted your - oh. Damn."

John had simply leaned into Sherlock's back, and cautiously placed his hands on Sherlock's narrow hips, and whispered, "I'm here now."

 

Sherlock bolted out of bed, shivering and mumbling in some Eastern European dialect John had never heard before. A new place, John sighed. He had expected that Sherlock might have a reaction to moving, but not this. It had been years, over two decades since Serbia. Sherlock had never let John know, he had only seen and wept over the scars, but never known of the nightmares, somehow Sherlock had kept them at bay after John's return, being back at Baker Street must have helped, a familiar place. Now, they had finally arrived, sleeping in their old bed, but in Sussex; everything was new; different sounds, scents...

"Sherlock."

"John. Oh, John. You're here." He spoke to the darkness, unseeing, still. "I thought I had lost you - you weren't there. You were with her. I - Oh. Not Baker Street. Sussex. Bees. Damn....nightmare?"

John nodded, then realised Sherlock couldn't see him yet, his eyes hadn't adjusted. "Yes, love."

Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's never me I see, John, it's always you, in my place. Why I had to go, to make sure you would be safe. In my head, it's you who is beaten and broken."

John moved out of bed noisily, then pulled a still trembling Sherlock into his arms. "I'm here, Sherlock. Safe, because of you; loved and cherished, because of you."

 

"Let me see?" John whispered.

Sherlock spun suddenly, facing John, eyes blazing. "You can't fix this, John. You can't clean the wounds, suture the edges, hide them away under your gauze and tape. I'm not, I'll never be whole again, there will always be parts of me that can't be healed. I'm broken, John. I never wanted you to see how truly broken I am."

"Sherlock, please?" John looked into Sherlock's eyes, full of pain, loss, anger, so much anger, and yet, he also saw a tiny sliver of hope there. Hope that John could love him anyway, see beyond the damage and rescue the sweet, fragile soul that still dwelled beneath it all.

John closed his eyes and nodded sharply. He took off his coat, and the multitude of layers, while Sherlock stood mutely, barely breathing. At last, John paused and took a deep breath, then removed his vest, revealing his own, much older permanent reminder of his almost early demise.

Sherlock took a gulp of air, then let it out again, slowly. His eyes missed nothing, knew everything, could even describe the scene of John's near death perfectly, if he had been asked. Centimeters one way or another and they never would have met...he closed his eyes and shrugged out of his robe, then lifted his ancient t shirt over his head. John could almost hear him cringe, as he turned so John could see the worst of it. John tried to look at his friend's ruined back objectively, as a doctor, but he couldn't. He suddenly heard sobbing, harsh, ugly, angry noises; someone was in pain - he felt himself falling to his knees, and when he opened his eyes again, he was looking into Sherlock's worried face. John reached up and touched Sherlock's dry, but flushed cheek, and whispered, "I don't have the right to ask you, you don't have any reason to let me stay, but will you give me one more chance to love you as I always should have?"

 

John held Sherlock in his arms, guiding his breathing until the shaking stopped.

"That night, when you came back?"

"Uhm-hmm?" He brushed a curl behind an ear and waited.

"I had given up. Resigned myself to being alone, untouchable. I had decided to never let anyone else in. But, you showed up and fought for me, you might have given up, turned away, but you were brave enough, strong enough to stay, to see, to hold me and touch me. You saved me again that night, John."

"I can still remember that day, so clearly. I woke up, looked at Mary and she knew. She watched me dress and could see it in my face. 'You always loved him, you married me, but you never stopped loving him. I'll send your things over, but go and take a day to think, he may not be ready, might not want you back. He'd be a fool not to, but, make sure you know what you want, he may be too hurt right now...' So, I did, I walked all day, just thinking, arguing with you in my head, until it was dark, and I knew where I wanted to be. You saved me too, you know that don't you? Like you always had before."

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, then pulled John into a kiss, "John."

"Tea? Do you want some tea?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Later? Will you help me back to bed, and just hold me?"

"Nothing I'd rather do, love."


End file.
